


Like It Was Yesterday (And We Could Run Away)

by daniomalley



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, Gen, Neglect, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 06:01:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/707340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daniomalley/pseuds/daniomalley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All his life, Dean has followed two rules: do whatever Dad says, and take care of Sam. But he starts to realise that he can't keep doing both, and that he's going to have to make a choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like It Was Yesterday (And We Could Run Away)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SPN-J2 Big Bang 2012, and originally posted on 22/7/12.
> 
> Thanks to my friend Lisa for betaing.
> 
> The gorgeous artwork created by [starry_ice](http://starry-ice.livejournal.com/) for this fic can be found [here](http://starry-ice.livejournal.com/79708.html)
> 
> [](http://s1246.beta.photobucket.com/user/daniomalley22/media/BB-Yesterday-OnTheRoadBanner_starry-ice.jpg.html)

Morning comes early in Tennessee in the summer, God awful early. Well, Dean supposes it’s not quite that bad. When the weather’s warm, it’s easier to get out of bed. When the sky lightens, it’s easier to wake up. Summer mornings in Tennessee are a lot kinder than winter mornings in Washington. Still, they’re pretty damn early.

This morning starts at half past five. Dean’s glad he’s woken up a little bit before Dad, he gets the coffee on and tidies up some before Dad wakes up. Might put him in a bit of a better mood, and that will make the day a whole lot easier on everyone.

He goes back to the bedroom he shares with Sam, to wake him up. Sam isn’t always so good at waking up early. Sometimes, he’s up before Dean. Sometimes, he’s out of bed for an hour or two before it seems like he’s really awake. Sam’s just not predictable.

Today, he shakes Sammy’s shoulder gently, whispering his name. He calls Sam “Princess Sammy,” just to annoy him, figuring Sam will probably wake up properly just to whine at him. He’s right, too.

They’re both dressed and downstairs in five minutes. Dad’s up by then, drinking his coffee. He looks up when they come in, acknowledging their entrance with a nod. He doesn’t mention the coffee or the clean kitchen, but Dean didn’t expect him too.

“It’s after six,” says Dad. “We’d better hurry up, we’re late for our run.”

Dean says, “Yes, sir,” because Dad expects it, and because if he speaks up, maybe Dad won’t notice Sam’s silence. It’s not that Sammy’s sulking or anything, but he’s always a little grumpy early in the morning, and not inclined to talk.

Dean’s a little relieved when Dad just heads for the door, and he and Sam follow him outside.

They’re staying in a little two bedroom cabin, in a trailer park in a tiny pissant town called Furnace. Since it’s only six o’clock, and the air already feels to be about ninety degrees, Dean can only applaud the founders on their aptitude for giving names. Dad takes the lead and they follow a route along the river, under the interstate overpass and then up a small connecting stream. At least, following the waterways like this, the air isn’t as blisteringly hot as it could be. Finally, they head back to the trailer park along the highway, and it’s like running next to a giant oven. The sun’s barely up. Dean remembers that he and Sam still have to walk to school and back again, and they’ve already run a good six miles. 

He glances over his shoulder at Sammy, checking on him. He’s not so far behind, which is good, but he’s clearly having trouble keeping up. His mouth hangs open, and Dean can hear Sam’s ragged breaths over the sound of his own footfalls. Sam’s strides are jerky and uneven. Dean figures Sam must just be reaching his limit; if he’d been struggling this hard all along he’d be much further back.

Dean glances back again, this time sticking a grin on his face and trying to make an encouraging gesture without losing his balance. It’s not quite a wave and not quite a thumbs-up. Come on Sammy, he thinks. We’re nearly there. You can do it.

Sam seems to get the message. He straightens up and grits his teeth, a look of determination crossing his face. He pumps his arms and legs harder, and Dean feels a spark of pride and affection for his little brother. Sam will keep trying, not because he wants to, but because Dean asks him to.

They arrive back at their cabin ten minutes later, Dad first and Dean a few seconds later. Sam comes in maybe half a minute after that, sweat sticking his too-long hair to his forehead. He shuffles the last few steps and finally stops, sucking in air like he’s drowning and leaning forward to rest his hands on his knees. For a moment it looks like he might drop on the ground in front of the cabin and stay there, but of course Dad’s not having that.

“For goodness sake, Sam,” he says. “Get up, and stop being such a wuss. You know you have chores to do before you go to school.”

Sam straightens up at once, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Dean can still see how much Sammy’s legs are shaking, and he bets Dad can too. “Yes, sir,” says Sam, and Dad nods and heads inside.

While Dad showers, Dean cooks breakfast. He knows Sam won’t want anything cooked, not after running in the heat, but Dad will want bacon and scrambled eggs, and Dean will have the same. While the bacon is cooking, Dean fills a bowl with cornflakes and adds milk. He doesn’t put any sugar on, because Sam complains that he never puts the right amount on. Sam can do that part himself. 

Sam’s job in the morning is to check all the salt lines and then move the weapons out to the car. Not that they really need to bring all the weapons inside every night, and then take them out to the car again in the morning. The car is secure, and the three of them are safe in the cabin with the salt lines and a small arsenal. But two weeks ago, Sam packed up the supplies for a hunt and Dad’s pack was one clip short. No big deal, but Dad still thought it was the sort of carelessness that could lead to disaster, that could have been a disaster if their hunt hadn’t gone as well as it did. So, he’d said, maybe after a few days of lugging the weapons back and forth, Sam would learn to be more careful.

They have quite an extensive collection of weaponry, counting the rifles, the handguns, the knives, the crossbows, the holy water and the salt, as well as a few other things like the crucifix and the rosary, and Dad would be pissed as hell if Sam was careless with any of it, so the job takes him a while. Dean and Dad are halfway through their breakfast by the time Sam comes in, just as sweaty and flushed as when they’d just finished their run. He spots the bowl of cereal on the counter and gives Dean a thankful look, but says nothing. Dean’s glad he doesn’t draw Dad’s attention to the fact that Dean made Sam a special breakfast, different to what he and Dad are eating, even if it is just a bowl of cereal. 

Dean finishes his breakfast first, and hurries off to be the first one in the shower. He doesn’t need to rush, really. He and Sam have an unspoken agreement that the first one back from the run gets the first shower, and that is always Dean. But they don’t have a whole lot of time if they don’t want to be late for school. Dean doesn’t care about being late, but Sammy does.

When they’re finally out the door, it’s half past seven and they should be able to make the first bell if they don’t dawdle. Sam pushes the pace anyway, and Dean keeps up, knowing that the middle school is a bit further away than the high school. They don’t speak much as they walk, it’s hot and dusty and every breath Dean takes tastes of hot, still air. Sometimes, he thinks he’d like to bring a water bottle along for the walk, but it would just be something else to carry. He can drink when he gets to school.

They talk as they go, about school and classes and the jerks they have to put up with. Sam whines about gym class and Dean mocks him.

“Sounds awesome!” he says. “Maybe they’ll let you play dodgeball!” Sam groans, which just provokes Dean further. “Bet you’d kick ass at dodgeball,” he says, and Sam shrugs.

“Bet I would,” he says sadly. Dean quietens in realisation. Winning a game is one thing, but no-one likes the new kid who comes in and is just too good, too quick, too bright. It doesn’t just apply to academic stuff. He wonders how the other kids react to Sammy, to the smart and studious kid, who is still a bit on the chubby side and not really all that tall yet, when they realise that he’s a better athlete than the quarterback of the football team, and could probably take out most kids Dean’s age in hand-to-hand. Or maybe, they never find out. Maybe Sammy just hides what he can do, to try to go unnoticed. Unfortunately, notice seems to be something Sammy can just never avoid.

***********

When the bell finally rings to signal the end of school, Sam rushes to be one of the first kids out the door.

It’s been an okay day. Classes have been easy enough and the other kids have mostly left him alone. Even gym wasn’t too horrible. They hadn’t played dodgeball, like Dean had said. They’d played basketball, and Sam is neither good nor bad enough at basketball to stand out. Being the last one picked for a team doesn’t bother him, he’s used to that after thirteen years of moving from town to town and school to school.

There’s only one week of school left. They’ve been in this little town for three months now, one of the longest times Sam can remember attending the same school. Sam’s looking forward to finishing the school year with a group of people he’s sort of come to know. He thinks Dad will want them to move on soon, but he hopes they will be able to stay until the last day. He knows for sure Dad will want them to put extra time into training while school’s out. Especially him. He’s just so far behind Dean, even where Dean was at when he was Sam’s age. Sam knows this, because Dad makes sure of it.

Sam walks about a mile back towards the caravan park, and meets Dean where the road from Dean’s school meets the road from Sam’s school. Sam knows Dean’s been waiting for him, and he appreciates it. The temperature is now over one hundred degrees, and there’s nothing Sam would like better than get back to the cabin and relax under the fan. He bets Dean feels the same way, but he’s waited out in the heat anyway, probably for ten minutes or more.

Sometimes, there are a few kids from Sam’s school who like to follow him home, throwing taunts and trying to get him angry or upset. They usually leave when Dean joins up with Sam, knowing a fight they can’t win when they see it. A few weeks back, though, the biggest one grabbed Sam and tried to shove him down. Sam had fought back, like Dean and Dad had taught him. Sam thinks he could have handled one jerkass bully on his own, but when his two buddies had realised what was happening, they’d jumped in. Dean had come along then, looking for Sam who was running late. Dean had probably saved Sam from a giant ass-kicking.

It had bothered Sam. Not escaping getting beat up, he’s cool with that. But Dean had had to save him. Again. And this time it wasn’t even from a monster or anything. Just some stupid bullies that Dean would have been able to handle on his own when he was Sam’s age. Sam still worries about it. He can just imagine what Dad would say; hell, he’s sure he could recite the speech word for word: If he kept on always needing Dean’s protection, he could wind up getting Dean hurt. If he didn’t become tougher and more self sufficient, he’d be too much of a burden, of a liability, to keep helping his family.

Today, no one follows him, and Dean is standing in the meagre shade of a road sign when Sam reaches him. Dean gives Sam a bright smile, which he returned. They fall into step together without a word, Dean reaching behind Sam to tousle his hair. Sam retaliates by bumping gently into Dean’s side.

[](http://s1246.beta.photobucket.com/user/daniomalley22/media/BB-Yesterday-SummerWalkSM_starry-ice.jpg.html)

Sam likes these parts of the day, where it’s just the two of them, when Dad’s not around to remind him of all the ways he doesn’t measure up. When Dean smiles at him, it’s easy to pretend that Dean actually likes hanging out with him, that it wasn’t just a result of the obligation he feels to protect Sam. As soon as they get home, Sam knows they’ll have work to do and Dad will want them to get straight into training. But for now, he can pretend they’re just two normal teenagers.

Dad does take them out training straight away. They head out a little way to a secluded spot where they can train in peace. First, they work out with sets of pushups, starjumps and crunches. Once they’re good and sweaty, Dad calls a drink break, and Sam figures he’s taking it easy because of the heat. He gulps water, trying not to drink too much or too quickly, knowing he’ll regret it if he does. But it’s hard; they’ve just started and he’s already so thirsty.

Next they do target practice, which is definitely Dad’s way of giving them a break from the physical stuff because of the weather. Sam hates this side of training, though. He’s such a lousy shot, with any kind of weapon.

Dad lines up tin cans on a log for Sam and hands him a rifle. “When you can knock all the cans down in ten seconds, Sammy,” he says,” We’ll change up the weapon.” 

Sam picked up the rifle obediently, breathing a little easier. He likes the rifle, of all their weapons it’s the one he’s best with. He’s sure he can manage this.

A few yards away, Dad and Dean are setting up targets for the crossbow. Sam’s only used it a few times, because Dad wants him to focus more on improving with the firearms. But Dean enjoys using the bow, and Dad seems to like teaching him.

“Sammy!” snaps Dad’s voice. Sam jerks out of his daze to see his father glaring pointedly at him, tapping his watch.

“Sorry,” Sam mumbles, lifting the rifle and trying to focus on the cans. There are only five, but the rifle is bolt action, with a reasonable kick, and it only holds six bullets, so there’s not much room for error.

Sam lines up his first shot, waits till he’s ready and squeezes off the first round. He hits the first three cans, misses the fourth, and carefully aims to get it with his next shot. He hits it and lines up the last can, but a bug buzzes past his ear just as he fires and he twitches to the side. Not much, but enough to miss. Sam sighs in disappointment. He’s out of bullets; he failed.

“What was that, Sammy?” Dad barks, and Sam winces. 

“There was a bug,” he explains. “It distracted me.”

“A bug,” says Dad incredulously. “Come on, Sam. Would you let yourself be distracted like that on a hunt? If your life depended on it? Or your brother’s?”

“No!” protests Sam fiercely.

“The way you train, Sammy, that’s the way you’ll be in the field. These are the habits you’ll learn. Come on, get your act together. Reload that rifle and pick up the cans.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam mumbles as he sets about doing so. Dad stomps off, and Sam can hear him praising Dean’s aim with the crossbow, his precision and technique and the clever way he manages to get the sun to shine out his ass. Sam pushes away his irritation. It’s not Dean’s fault that Sam sucks. Once he hits all the cans, Sam is sure Dad will be proud of him too.

The second time around, Sam aims very carefully, making sure each can is perfectly in the gun’s sights and his arms are steady before firing. Not only does he hit all the cans, he doesn’t missed any, and his extra bullet is still in the rifle’s chamber. He grins brightly, because he’s never accomplished such a feat before.

He looked at Dad, who’s frowning slightly and still cupping his watch in one hand. “I didn’t miss any of them!” he says excitedly, just in case Dad hadn’t noticed that.

Dad just gives a curt nod. “That’s good, Sammy. Next time there’s a snail infestation, I’ll know who to call. That took sixteen seconds, Sam, too long. You can do better.”

Sam slumps a bit. He sets up the cans again, wondering how he can possibly go any faster. He realises he’s been going about this all wrong. He’s been shooting the can on the highest end of the log, and going from left to right. With the kick of the gun, he has to bring it that much lower for each new target, and it takes more time. If he starts on the right, each target will be slightly higher than the one before, and he won’t have to adjust as much.

Sam tries his new strategy, determined to make it under the time limit this time. He hits the first two cans rapidly close together, but his shot for the third goes wide. Sam knows he’s been rushing too much. He adjusts his aim to try again, but the gun slips in his sweaty hands and he misses again. Although he knows he’s blown another attempt, Sam tries once more, determined to finish as best he can. The can for some reason blurs and wavers in his vision, and he misses for a third time.

“What are you doing Sammy!” barks Dad. “You’re just wasting ammo! You think it’s so cheap we can afford to throw it away?” Dad stretches out one long arm, cuffing Sam lightly behind the ear.

Sam swallows the lump in his throat, trying not to show how upset he is. Dad won’t be pleased if he starts blubbing like a toddler. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Might as well throw the ammo away, for all the good this practice is doing you,” Dad mutters, and Sam flinches. He doesn’t think he was supposed to have heard that, although Dad was standing close enough that he couldn’t help but hear. Hell, even Dean heard.

“Come on, Dad,” says Dean, removing four crossbow bolts from the bullseye of his target. “Sammy’s doing ok.”

“Ok is not going to cut it when we need backup on a hunt, Dean!” snaps Dad, and Sam’s throat tightens again. Dad never talks to Dean like that unless it’s Sam’s fault. Usually because Dean is trying to stick up for him, or because Dad thinks Dean hasn’t taken care of Sam well enough.

“I can do it!” exclaims Sam. “I’ll get it this time! I just need one more try!” He wipes his sweaty palms on his shorts, and lifts up the rifle. This time, he sights on each can before he fires, making sure he’s lining each one up perfectly. When the first shot misses, his stomach lurches, but he still has time, and the next shot hits. So does the next one, and the next, and to be honest, Sam doesn’t really remember hitting the last two cans at all, but when he puts the rifle down, they’re all lying on the ground, so obviously he did. He lets himself smile a little bit, and when he looks in Dean’s direction, Dean smiles back and gives a thumbs up.

Dad still doesn’t look happy, and shakes his head slightly at Sam. “Don’t become dependent on a crutch, Sam,” he says. “If you need this... extra time to check your aim before the clock starts, you’re just cheating yourself. Remember what I said, the habits you learn here are the ones you’ll take on the hunt.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam agrees, and his success suddenly looks a lot more like failure. Still, Dad seems to think Sam’s satisfied his requirements well enough, and he takes the rifle away, returning with a handgun.

Sam grips the handgun reluctantly. He likes this one a lot less, finding it harder to use than the rifle. It’s less powerful, so there’s not as much kick, but there’s no butt to rest against his shoulder for added support. And the handgun was less accurate than the rifle, due to its shorter barrel.

“Same thing,” says Dad. “Five cans in ten seconds. Once you can do that, maybe you can have a try with the crossbow.”

Sam likes the sound of that, mainly because the idea of joining Dean and having him nearby while he tries out the crossbow sounds nice. Maybe Dad would even let Dean show him what to do; Dean’s been getting pretty good with the bow. But he’s pretty sure he won’t be getting near the crossbow today.

Twenty minutes later, Sam still can’t hit all the cans in the ten second time limit. He can hit them all in twenty seconds, but if he tries to go faster, he can’t hit more than two or three of them. Dad’s not saying much, but Sam can sense his disappointment.

“Okay, that’ll do,” he says eventually. Sam nearly speaks up, please Dad, one more try, I’m sure I can get it this time... but there’s really no point. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to do it.

“We’ll have to try it again tomorrow,” says Dad.

“Yes, sir,” Sam nods obediently.

They move on to hand to hand training, first doing some stretches, then a few drills, and finally some sparring. Sam and Dean spar together for a little while. Sam never minds sparring Dean; it’s not like Dean goes easy on him, but he always seems to know how much to push. He can tell when Sam’s slacking off and when he’s really having trouble. Dad watches from the side and calls out pointers, mostly to Sam. He’s dropping his guard, his stance is too narrow, he’s using the same predictable moves all the time. Eventually, Dean hooks his foot behind Sam’s leg and sweeps it from under him, grabbing Sam’s shoulders so he lands on the ground gently.

Sam gasps, he always does, when he loses his footing. He’s smiling again by the time he lands on the ground, and Dean allows his own serious expression to soften briefly before he helps Sam up.

“Gotta sharpen up those reflexes, Sammy,” Dean says gruffly, but Sam can tell he’s not annoyed or anything.

“Sam, I’ve seen preschoolers hold their own better than that,” barks Dad. Sam wants to scoff, because, seriously? Preschoolers? He doesn’t believe that for a second.

Sam and Dean square up to go again, but Dad orders Dean off and takes his place. Sam grimaces and hopes Dad doesn’t notice. He doesn’t like sparring with Dad that much. It’s not as though Dad really tries to hurt him or anything, but if he’s outmatched by Dean, he has no hope against Dad.

Dad jumps right in with a simple punch combo, but he’s moving quickly and Sam’s already tired. He blocks the first two strikes, but the third hits him square in the stomach.

“Defend yourself, Sammy,” says Dad. Sam nods and adjusts his guard.

This time, Dean is the one calling suggestions and advice. “You’re too close, Sam,” he says. “Keep out of his range; get in and out to attack.” Sam backs up, but Dad comes after him too quickly. Trying to create more distance, Sam weakens his stance and Dad pounces, tripping him just like Dean had before. Sam lands on the ground with a thump, and balances on his elbows for a moment. Dad is already there, reaching for Sam’s hand, waiting for him to get up.

They start again, this time Dad keeping in real close. He grabs Sam’s wrists in a firm grip. Sam struggles, and when he can’t break the hold, he tries a kick. He’s in too close; Dad twists to the side and the kick lands against his hip, as effective as hitting an elephant with a peanut. Sam tries to twist his arms free, but he can’t, and then Dad is behind him, one arm around his chest, bending Sam back over his hip. Sam hits the ground again, and is pulled up straight away, because Dad didn’t let go of his arms. Finally, Dad breaks free and moves away.

Sam takes advantage of the sudden space to move around and watch his Dad’s movements. He tries a couple of times to dart in and land some strikes, but Dad sees him coming each time and moves away. It’s frustrating as hell, but Sam is used to it and doesn’t lose his temper. Dad moves suddenly to the left, and Sam follows. Dean calls, “It’s a feint, Sammy!” but it’s too late by then, and Dad is on his right, pinning Sam’s right arm to his side with one arm and putting him in a headlock with the other. Sam grips Dad’s wrist with his left hand, tries to get his hip at the right angle to flip Dad like he’s been shown, but it’s like trying to lift a boulder. If he were a fly. When a minute of struggling has proven that he can’t get free, Dad lets him go.

“Well, Sammy,” Dad starts. “Your stances are lazy. You’re unbalanced, your centre of gravity is too high. You’re still not trying to combine moves fluently, it’s like sparring a typewriter. And your reflexes are hopeless. You’re not concentrating.”

“Yes, sir.” Sam tries to keep his expression blank, to not let Dad see how much the criticism hurts. It’s all true, anyway, so there’s no use whining about it. He just needs to try harder to improve; he wishes he were good at this, like Dean is.

“Are you listening, Sam?” Dad barks, suddenly. “Have you heard a word I’ve said? Do you even care that this sloppiness could get someone killed?”

“Of course, Dad!” Sam cries, mortified to hear his voice wobble. He can feel his eyes burning and tries to blink the feeling away.

“Well, there’s no use crying about it! I need you to lift your game!”

Dean’s voice interrupts there. “It’s a hot day, Dad, we’re all finding it hard.”

“Oh, of course.” Dad’s voice takes on a tone of mocking sympathy. “We’ll just have to schedule our hunts for when the weather’s better. Well?” Dad turns his attention back to Sam, who straightens up quickly. “Don’t just stand there snivelling, pack up the equipment while Dean and I spar.”

“Yes sir.” Sam hurries to pack up all the guns they were using, wiping them down quickly so it will be easier to clean them properly later on. He’d like to watch Dad and Dean spar, and maybe give Dean some encouragement like Dean did for him, but he knows Dad won’t like it. He’s embarrassed to realise that Dad really was holding back during their round, and steps the pace right up for Dean. Dad puts him on the ground three times in as many minutes, and Sam wishes that Dean had kept quiet about the weather. It’s not like ghosts can even feel the weather anymore.

Still, at the end of the round, Dean gets a roundhouse kick past Dad’s guard, and Sam can hear him grunt from a good twenty feet away. “That’s good, Dean,” he says, still sounding a bit short of breath, and to Sam it looks as though Dean grows a whole inch on the spot.

********

Back at the cabin, Dean puts the training equipment away while Sam cleans the guns he’d used. Dean can see the slump in Sam’s shoulders, the hurt expression that he tries to hide, and feels bad for him.

“That was some good shooting with the rifle,” Dean says encouragingly. Sam slouches in his chair a little more. 

"I couldn't get it," he says. "I couldn't do it with the handgun, and I won't be able to tomorrow either."

Dean’s not sure what to say to that. He loves Sam, and he knows that he tries hard, but he agrees with Sam this time. He won’t be able to do what Dad wants him to do.

"You just need more practice," he says brightly. Sam doesn’t look up, just keeps polishing the barrel of the rifle vigorously, although it’s already gleaming.

"Dad’s going to be disappointed,” Sam says flatly. Dean winces. He hates disappointing Dad. It’s rarely an issue for Dean; he works hard and he and Dad tend to agree about things. Sam is different to them, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care when Dad’s unhappy with him.

"Look at me, Sam," says Dean. Sam avoids his gaze for a few seconds more, trying to pretend that the handgun's grip needs more work, but Dean waits until Sam meets his gaze with a carefully blank face.

"You make me really proud, you know,” Dean says. “You never stop trying, even when it’s hard. I don’t do that. All the things I don’t enjoy or that I’m not that good at, like school stuff, I just don’t try, but you do, even if you don’t like it or it’s something you find hard."

"Dean..." Sam groans.

"Shut up Sammy, just listen. I hate this sappy shit as much as you do, so you could at least listen when I make the effort. Now. Do you feel better, or do we need to have a group hug?”

Sammy laughs at last. "Shut up, Dean."

"No, seriously..."

"Shut up!"

The door of the cabin snaps open at that moment, and Dad steps inside. "Boys?" he asks curiously, "what's so funny?"

Dean becomes more serious at once. He doesn’t want to tell Dad what they've been discussing. Not that he'd be mad or anything, but he probably wouldn’t agree, and he'd tell them both as much, and all the work Dean’s put into making Sam feel better would be undone.

"Nothing, Dad," says Sam a bit breathlessly.

"We were just kidding around," says Dean.

Dad grunts. "You started dinner yet, Dean?"

"Not yet."

"Well, what's the holdup? We've got a job tonight, you know, we don't have all day."

"Yes sir." Dean quickly gets out the ingredients for their meal. They’re having spaghetti; it’s quick and easy, and in hot weather it’s better to not use the oven.

**************

School the next day does not go as well. Sam was walking along minding his own business when professional asshole and all-around cliché Mark Soldon came along and grabbed his math textbook. Now he holds it just out of Sam’s reach, calling insults.

Of course, he can get his textbook back if he wants to. He’ll just have to tackle the jerk and maybe grind his face into the brick footpath a little bit. It would be satisfying and effective.

“Give it back,” Sam growls. One more chance. He’ll give jerk-face one more chance before taking the face grinding option. 

“Come and get it, pussy!”

All right, face grinding it is.

*********

“What in the hell were you thinking?”

“He had my textbook! He wouldn’t give it back!”

“So you broke his nose? His parents were a second away from calling the police!”

“I’m sorry!”

“Not as sorry as you’re going to be. You’re grounded. Don’t make that face, you’ll have plenty to keep you busy.”

Dad stalks out of the principal’s office and Sam reluctantly follows him to the car. He’s been suspended for the week, the last week of school. Sam doubts he’ll be back to this school again, and he debates speaking up, getting Dad to let him empty out his locker before they leave. He decides against it, in the end. Dad is really pissed off and Sam knows there’s nothing he can say that won’t make him even madder. He can always get Dean to come by and get his things if he needs to.

The drive home passes in silence, and once they arrive at the cabin Sam waits nervously in the passenger seat for instructions.

“Get inside and do something useful,” Dad growls. Sam hurries inside, eager to put a wall or a closed door between himself and his father.

He spends the afternoon cleaning the bathroom and the bedroom he shared with Dean. Dad is sure to see it for the sucking up that it is, but at least it won’t make him any angrier and it keeps Sam busy.

Sam hears Dean arrive home and then the soft murmur of conversation that means Dad is telling him what had happened. Sam hears Dad raise his voice briefly and figures that was Dean trying to defend him. He hopes for Dean to shut up and a few minutes later the bedroom door opens quietly.

“How do you always get into these situations Sammy?”

“He had my textbook! And he’s an asshole. He’s been picking on me for months, and you know it.”

“You should have stood up to him when it started, _without_ breaking his nose. Then it would never have blown up like this. Do you have any idea how pissed Dad is?”

“Yeah, Dean, I get it okay?” Sam grabbs a pillow from his bed and squeezes it tightly in his hands. “Come on, don’t you... haven’t you ever had someone make you so mad, and you’d just do anything to get them to stop?”

Dean looks at him for a long minute, and Sam eventually flinches and looked away.

“You can’t do that, Sammy,” says Dean. “Because it gets you noticed, and that fucks everything up.”

Sam gives up on arguing, and nods meekly. Dean reaches over to squeeze his shoulder, and Sam wishes he just... wouldn’t. It makes it harder to hold onto his anger, and he needs it.

************

The next week sucks. Dad is constantly pissed, and Sam is moody and bored and pissed. Try as he might, Dean can’t manage to keep the two of them from being at one another’s throats constantly. It’s not so bad most of the time, when Sam is at school all day and Dad leaves him alone. But since Sam got into that fight, Dad’s been on his case, and of course Sam is incapable of taking the easy way out, instead antagonising Dad every chance he gets. Eventually, Dean decides the best thing he can do is stay out of their way. Maybe they’ll argue their way to some sort of understanding.

Of course, that’s overly optimistic. Dad gets word of a haunting in a nearby town, and things actually get worse. Dad thinks the ghost was probably the spirit of the former owner of the house; Sam insists it was his son. Dean’s pretty sure that Sam is just out to contradict anything Dad says, even if it’s something indisputable like ‘ghosts don’t like salt’. Dean’s about ready to strangle him.

Dad, for his part, never lets ten minutes pass without barking an order for Sam to do some chore, usually a chore he hates. Dean gets why; Sam hates taking orders, and if he doesn’t learn better it could be a problem when they’re hunting. It’s not that Dean doesn’t understand that, but he still thinks it wouldn’t kill Dad to give an inch or two. It starts to seem like he doesn’t care about Sam learning anything, like he’s just trying to provoke him into another fight. And of course he knows exactly how to do it. Sam’s petulance is frustrating, but so is Dad’s wounded innocence every time Sam gets mad. It’s so clear to Dean, the way the two of them wind one another up, and he doesn’t understand why they can’t see it.

So, sure, Dean starts to get angry with Dad, but then they figured out the identity of the ghost, and Dad was right. He doesn’t gloat or anything like that. Just figures out a plan for the salt and burn. Sam, however, acts like Dad rigged the haunting just to spite him, and Dean wants to throttle him all over again.

Dad makes Sam sit out for the actual ghost busting, which Dean happens to agree with. Not that Sam would do anything on purpose to get them hurt, but he’s too upset to be reliable. Of course, it starts another fight about whether or not Dad trusts Sam, and it goes on until Dad threatens to give Sam a real reason to sulk.

The hunt goes smoothly enough, but it’s still a long night’s work. Digging up a grave takes hours, and they don’t get home until four. There’s no point going to sleep; Dad will only insist on everyone getting up at six anyway. Dean makes coffee and sits down with a car magazine.

It’s the last day of school, but Dean’s not going. He doesn’t see the point; he’s missed too many days and flunked too many classes to graduate. He hasn’t been going to school all week, but Dad and Sam have been too focused on their stupid fight to notice. Still, when Sam finds out he’s not going, he tries to give Dean the sad eyes.

“There’s always summer school,” Sam suggests hopefully, when Dean explains his reasons for not going.

Dean just shakes his head. He’s not going to summer school. He’s done with school. It’s not like you need a high school diploma to be a hunter. Dad, as expected, doesn’t really care when Dean announces his failure to graduate. Like Dean, he understands what is and isn’t important in life, in their lives. And soon after that, the whole subject gets brushed aside as Dad announces that they’re moving on. This predictably results in an enormous fight.

It goes on for ages, and while Dean tries to get Dad and Sam to calm down, he has absolutely no effect on them. It comes to a head when Sam screams, “Why do we always have to do what you say anyway? You don’t know what we’re doing, you’re just making it up as you go!”

Dean can see it happening, but he can’t figure out what to do about it or make himself move. He can see Dad reaching out and grabbing Sam by the shoulders. His fingers grip tight and his face is red. Sam shrinks back a little, so despite recent evidence to the contrary he’s not completely stupid. He doesn’t apologise, though, or look repentant or do anything else that would cause Dad to ease up, because he has no sense of self preservation.

“Go to your room, Sam, before I do something I regret.”

 

Dean can see Sam hesitate before he backs down and leaves the room. He slumps with relief and waits a minute afterwards, looking from Dad to the doorway where Sam disappeared, trying to decide who to try to reason with.

He follows Sam, of course, because he can, on rare occasions, be made to see other points of view, whereas talking to Dad would just be a waste of time.

Sam is sitting on his bed, looking so furious that he can’t figure out what to do with himself. He sees Dean come into the room and begins to rant immediately.

“He makes me so mad,” Sam snarls. “Like he doesn’t care what anyone else wants or what anyone else thinks.”

“You know he’s not just moving us for kicks, Sammy,” Dean tries, but he gets no farther than that before Sam interrupts.

“I know that!” Sam shouts. “But I want to stay here, and not just for kicks either. There’s stuff I’d like to be able to do, things I won’t be able to do if we leave. But Dad thinks what I want doesn’t matter, only what he wants matters. Doesn’t it make you angry?”

Dean shrugs. It doesn’t make him angry, not like it does Sam. There are things he wants too, but the number one thing has always been Dad’s approval. Sam’s not like that. At any given moment he seems to have a dozen different wants which are all equally important to him, while staying on Dad’s good side is much lower on his list of priorities. It’s not enough for Sam to keep Dad happy, if it means he never gets to do what he wants. Dean knows that, even if he doesn’t understand it.

“You don’t understand,” Sam says, echoing Dean’s thoughts. “You never fight with Dad. You never go against anything he says.”

“We fight,” Dean argues, because Sam’s wrong. He and Dad don’t always get along.

“Not like I do,” Sam argues. “You always back down, ever since...” He trails off slowly, dropping his eyes to his hands.

“Since when?” Dean asks rhetorically. He knows the fight Sam was talking about, the one that had gotten physical. That had been Sam’s fault too, sort of, even though he hadn’t meant it. He’d been just ten, struggling to keep up with the training, and Dad had been frustrated. No one’s fault, really, and it would never have been such a big deal if Dean hadn’t tried to come to Sam’s defence. He’d been young and hot tempered, and maybe he’d enjoyed being the one who was good at hunting. That had been before he’d understood how risky their work was.

“Never mind,” Sam mutters, turning away.

Sam doesn’t get over his sulk, but they move anyway. They wind up way up north, in Michigan, in a crappy apartment which shares a communal bathroom with three other apartments on the same floor. Sam is less than impressed. Dad simply ignores him, and Dean tries to follow suit, but he’s not particularly good at ignoring Sam when he’s truly miserable. Dean picks up a few hours of work at a garage on the corner, and Dad keeps busy with hunting. Sam is left to his own devices. At first he talks about joining a team or a club, but it doesn’t seem to work out. They’re either associated with schools when Sam has yet to be enrolled in one, or the fees are more than they can afford.

*********

Michigan is the worst state in the US. Possibly in the entire world. Sure, it’s nice to be away from stinking hot Tennessee, but there’s nothing to do here. At least before, there had been space to run around, space to get away from Dad when he’s bothering Sam. Here, in the city, he can never seem to get far enough away.

With Dean and Dad both occupied most of the time, there’s not much for Sam to do. If he hangs around at home, Dad gives him research or chores to do. Sam doesn’t mind doing stuff like that, but he does mind being ordered around, so he tries to spend most of the day away from the apartment. If he’s gone for too long, though, Dean worries about him. He spends time at the library, or the park, or the pool, so that Dean will be reassured he’s someplace nearby.

There are some things which are less than ideal. For example, in the apartment just down the hall live a family with a son who’s just a year older than Sam. When they had moved in and met the neighbours, Dean had suggested Sam go around and make friends. Sam had done it, not because he wanted to, but because Dad didn’t like it when he spent too much time hanging around with civilians. Yeah, it was petty, but Sam figures he ended up paying for it when the whole encounter went spectacularly downhill. The kid might have been roughly Sam’s age, but that was the only thing they had in common. He was a quarterback, where Sam’s chosen sport was soccer, and while Sam’s favourite reading material was Cormac McCarthy, Mick preferred things with lots of pictures.

Once he realised Sam spent a good portion of each week in the public library, voluntarily, Mick seemed to consider Sam fair game for his own brand of personalised harassment. Sam has taken to wearing a baggy sweater over his backpack so that Mick can’t grab it. He tries to time his comings and goings for when he knows Mick won’t be around. If Mick gets the chance he’ll block Sam from going down the hall to his apartment, and then Dad gets on his case for being late. It’s driving Sam up the wall. He knows perfectly well that if he complained about the situation to Dad, or even Dean, they would tell him to man up and stand up for himself. But if he actually beat the jerk up, (as he was perfectly capable of doing) Dad would throw a fit about Sam jeopardising their cover. It stank, and he hated that he was the only one who seemed to realise how unfair it was.

Sam keeps his head down and does his best to ignore and avoid Mick, and it goes okay until Mick gets his older brother involved. Sam knew there was an older brother around but hadn’t met him; he would have been thrilled to have that continue, but instead he arrives home one night with a bag full of freshly checked out books and is stopped in the hallway by a taller, uglier, meaner Mick.

“You Sam?” he mumbles, stepping right into Sam’s path. The question is abrupt and not all that clear, so Sam’s response is less than articulate.

“Huh?”

“Sam. Short fat bookworm, pain in the ass. Is that you?” He steps forward to loom over Sam. “You look like a short, fat bookworm.”

“What do you want?”

“I want you to leave my brother alone.”

“I... I’d love to leave your brother alone. Really.”

“Then why do you keep hassling him?”

“I don’t!”

“You calling my brother a liar?” He leans one arm against the wall by Sam’s head. Sam takes a step backwards and wonders if he can run away without Dean calling him a pussy.

“No...”

“So you admit you’ve been giving my brother a hard time?”

Sam must take a little too long figuring out what to say to that, because the guy reaches out and grabs Sam by the collar. Sam tries to prise his hand off, but the other guy is too strong. Sam can see him pulling his fist back to punch and tries to figure out which way to duck. He kicks his shin, but that just makes him madder. And then Sam hears a wonderful sound.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Dean!” he exclaims, taking advantage of his attacker’s distraction to pull free.

“I’m asking you a question, asshole. What are you doing to my brother?”

The guy turns away from Sam to look at Dean, and Sam takes the opportunity to move several yards away.

“Listen, I wasn’t doing anything to him except what he had coming for picking on my little brother.”

Dean looks at the guy steadily, then turns his gaze towards Sam.

“That true, Sammy?”

“No!”

Dean looks back to Mick’s brother. “Well, you heard him.”

“Look.” Mick’s brother squares off with Dean and folds his arms. “I don’t care what your little shit of a brother says, mine told me the kid’s been giving him trouble for days. I won’t stand for it, so when he told me...”

“Yeah?” Dean steps forward, right into the guy’s space. “Your brother came running to you, and then what?”

“Then I came to take care of it!”

“Take care of it how?”

“However I had to.”

“However you had to, right.” Dean moves, so sudden Sam doesn’t even have the impression of movement, just that between one moment and the next Dean has the other guy shoved up against the wall. “You came out here to pick a fight, beat him up!”

“Get off me...”

“Dean,” Sam speaks up. He’s happy enough for Dean to stick up for him, but he hates hearing Dean imply that he can’t look after himself. If Dean pummels the jerk on his behalf, it’s not exactly going to fix anything.

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean growls. “And you,” he says, shaking Mick’s brother. “I should break your tiny skull. What’s the matter with you? You don’t pick a fight with a kid. You don’t beat up a fourteen year old.”

“I’m not a kid!”

“Not now, Sam!” Dean snaps.

“Dean, stop it! Come on, he gets it. He’ll leave me alone now. Right?” Sam adds, looking at Mick’s brother. “You’ll both leave me alone now, right?”

Mick’s brother nods, and Dean moves back ever so slightly.

“Don’t think I won’t be watching you,” Dean threatens, and Sam moves away, down the hall towards their apartment. Dean starts to follow him, then swings back to hit Mick’s brother with a punch to the face. Mick’s brother yells and Sam hears something crunch. 

“Dean!”

“Come on, Sammy, quick,” Dean says, hurrying Sam along towards their apartment. Sam follows reluctantly, taking up the argument again as soon as they were inside.

“You didn’t have to do that!”

“I know I didn’t have to. I wanted to.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have!”

“Maybe not. I wouldn’t have had to, if you’d done something about it yourself.”

“What?”

Dean pulls a beer from the fridge and flicks the top at the bin, where it bounces off and lands on the rug. “What was he saying about his brother? That you were picking on him? I know that’s gotta be bullshit, so was he picking on you?”

“Yeah-“

“And you didn’t do anything, so he went running to his big brother to try to get some reaction from you, right? That’s what happens when you don’t stand up for yourself. You should have nipped the whole thing in the bud.”

“That’s bullshit, Dean. When I got into that last fight at school, Dad was furious.”

“Yeah, because you did it in the cafeteria while a thousand people were watching. Come on, Sammy, you’re supposed to be smart.”

“Whatever, Dean. You’re stupid. You try to solve everything with your fists.”

Dean backs away, raising his hands. “Okay, Sam. Whatever, never mind.”

Sam can see from Dean’s face, his posture, that he’s pissed and that he’s not open to talking about it. He feels a little bad, but what does Dean know? It doesn’t matter what he does, Dad’s always happy with him.

Dean leaves Sam alone in his room, and Sam spends the rest of the evening in there, reading and definitely not sulking.

************

Dean arrives home from work the next day to find Sam being unusually quiet. This is never a good sign, but Dean figures he’s doomed at this point no matter what he does, and so he might as well delay the inevitable as long as possible.

That gains him nearly an hour of peace. He watches an episode of Mash, takes some sausages out of the freezer to defrost for dinner, and sits down to watch Wheel of Fortune. Between ‘The Way Things Were’ and ‘The Merchant of Venice’, Sam speaks up.

“Dean, I’ve been thinking.”

“I noticed. The smoke’s a dead giveaway.”

“Funny. Remember yesterday?”

“Yesterday? No, I’ve totally forgotten.”

“Remember what you said to that asshole?”

“To leave you alone unless he wanted me to make him eat his own dick? Something, I’ll point out, you should have told him yourself.”

Sam’s quiet for a minute after that, but he starts talking again eventually. Dean sighs and rubs his eye with one finger.

“You said he shouldn’t be getting into fights with fourteen year olds.”

“And? He shouldn’t. He’s a coward, picking on someone smaller than him.” Sam doesn’t say anything, and Dean tolerates the oppressive silence as long as he could before snapping, “What, Sam?”

“Is... did Dad teach you that?”

“What’s Dad got to do with this?”

“I just wondered, you know. What he might think about someone... getting in a fight, with a kid.”

“You wondered what? He’d be against it.”

“You sure?”

“What the hell? Yeah I’m sure. You see Dad going around getting in lots of fights with teenagers?”

Sam is quiet for a long time, and when Dean finally lets himself look away from the television, he realises Sam has left the room.

**************

Sam knows what he's doing is not the brightest move, but he can't seem to stop himself. He and Dad have always struggled to get along, but in the past Sam has made at least some effort to not deliberately antagonise him. He's pretty sure Dad and Dean don't see it that way, but he used to. Now, though, he’s lost even the slightest interest in keeping things civil.

“Why can’t I get a job? Dean has one.”

“Dean’s eighteen.”

“So?”

“He’s finished school. We need the money.”

“All the more reason for me to get a job too. Besides, we can’t be that tight. I know Dean spends half his wages on condoms and skin mags.”

“Sam!”

“You’re not getting a job, Sam,” says Dad firmly. “And that’s final.”

That would usually have been the end of the argument, right there, but Sam doesn't feel like backing down.

“Why? You don’t need me to be around here all day. It’s not like you give me an allowance, you know, there are things I might like to buy for myself.”

“Like condoms?” Dean asks, glaring over his bowl of cereal.

“No! Like books, and, and um, soda.” Sam looks dismissively towards the fridge. “Not like that cheap-ass kool-aid you make us drink.”

“Sam!” Dad bellows. “You don’t need books, or soda, or... whatever else you’d like to waste your money on. You’ve got food, and clothes, and a place to sleep. That’s all you need.”

“You’re being unfair!” Sam shouts. He can see Dad getting madder and madder, and it's a little frightening, but this is what he set out to do anyway. Not because he wants to, but because he needs to know what will happen.

“I have enough to worry about without you being off doing who knows what, Sam. From now on, you’ll be home unless I give you permission to go out.”

“This sucks!”

Now Sam is so angry he thinks he might throw himself at Dad. He storms out of the room and goes to his bedroom. He tries to slam the door, but it doesn't fit the door frame properly and so only makes a disappointing thud. He feels oddly let down. He still hasn't worked anything out, and on top of that Dad has confined him to the apartment. It sucks.

*******

Dean is about ready to move to another state without leaving a forwarding address. If he’d thought things between Dad and Sam were bad before, he knows better now. By this point, he can only assume that Sam is deliberately picking fights. Half of them start when he asks Dad for something so outrageous, Sam must have been aware there was no chance of getting his way. The other half start when Sam asks for something Dad would usually agree to, if not for the attitude Sam pulls while asking. The neighbours have taken to banging on the walls, and eventually the landlord actually comes by to tell them to keep their voices down or else. The fight caused by that visit still isn't over.

“I didn’t yell. You’re the one who yelled. You always yell.”

“Damn it, Sam, if you could shut up and listen for five minutes...”

“Why should I? No one ever listens to me.”

“If you can’t stop behaving like a spoiled brat, you can go to your room.”

“Fine!”

When Dean seeks Sam out in his room later, he's still fuming.

“...And he thinks no one else ever had a good idea except for him. No one knows anything except for him.”

“Sam, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but don’t you think it’s time you let it go?”

“No!”

“Because whatever it is you want, you’re not going to get it like this, and all you’re doing is making everyone miserable.”

“I don’t care.” Sam pouts and looked away, so Dean can tell Sam is lying about not caring.

“Whatever. If pretending that no one gives a shit about you is what makes you happy, knock yourself out.”

“He doesn’t. He doesn’t care what I do, he doesn’t care about the things that are important to me. Most dads would be thrilled if their kid got straight A’s. Not Dad, though.”

“He cares what you’re learning, just... you know, mainly the stuff for the job. You’ll need to know all that one day, so it’s more important. To Dad.”

“I’m not going to be a hunter. I’m going to be a lawyer.”

“Oh, great idea, Sam.” Dean knows it's unkind, but Sam’s stubbornness is beyond tiresome. He finds himself giving a high-pitched imitation of Sam’s voice. “Objection, your honour! That’s not fair!”

“Shut up, jerk!”

Dean gives Sam a look, and he can see his brother visibly restraining himself. “Fine,” Sam says at last, through clenched teeth. “That’s fine. Do you mind? I’d like to be alone.”

************

Dean is relieved to get out of the house and go to work the next day. He asks his boss about taking on more hours, but they don’t have enough work to go around as it is. He dawdles all the way home, taking far longer than he needs to at the supermarket deciding what to buy for dinner, and driving the longest route. He walks into the apartment to find stony silence. Dad and Sam are both in the room, pointedly ignoring one another.

Dean sighs, filling a pot of water to boil for the rice. “Chicken curry alright with everyone for dinner?”

Dad grunts and Sam doesn't reply at all. Dean nods to himself. “Good. Glad you all agree.” He starts dicing the chicken, which gives him the opportunity to subtly watch Sam and Dad. Dad is going through the newspapers, looking for odd occurrences. Sam is sitting in front of the television, but it's muted and he has a book open on his lap.

“Who wants to chop some vegetables for me?” Dean asks lightly. For a minute Sam doesn't move. Dad glowers at him, and Sam gets to his feet with a resolutely indifferent expression. He silently walks to stand by Dean at the kitchen bench, picks up a knife and begins slicing an onion with precise chops. Dad drops his newspaper and marches out of the room, saying something under his breath about following up a lead.

The moment the door closes behind him, Sam looks at Dean and says, “It was the thirtieth of April.”

“What was?”

“The night you and Dad had that fight. Do you remember?”

“I don’t want to talk about this, Sam.”

“I was just about to turn ten, and I was going to ask Dad if we could go to that movie I wanted to see, you know the one, right? But when I got home, you two were having this argument. Do you remember what it was about?”

“Why are you bringing this up now?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Sam! I said I don’t want to talk about this!”

“If you don't answer the question, I'll just assume you were fighting about throwing away your secret collection of Polly Pockets.”

“What the fuck are Polly Pockets?” Dean asks. Sam doesn't answer or look away. Dean decides it's easier to just tell Sam what he wants to know.

“He thought you might be able to do some backup work on a hunt. We were after a werewolf and he wanted you to keep watch from the car, send a signal if you saw it. I thought it was too dangerous.”

Dean's quite satisfied to see the surprise on Sam’s face. “Oh,” he says. “I didn’t know that’s what it was about.”

Dean shrugs. “I didn’t want you to know.”

“I would have been fine, in the car. The werewolf probably wouldn’t even have seen me.”

“Sam...”

“No, no, wait. Sorry. I’m getting distracted.” Sam takes a deep breath. “So, would you say that it was a bad fight?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“I just. I wanted to know if you thought, like. What you thought about it.”

“Yeah, it was a bad fight, Sam. You don’t see us going at it like that often, do you?”

“No.” Sam chews his lower lip. “Why did it get so bad?”

“I don’t know. Neither of us would back down.”

“’Cos normally you would. Back down.”

“I guess? He’s our Dad.”

“Right. And when you wouldn’t back down, what happened?”

“You know what happened.”

“Tell me anyway. What did Dad do?”

“I threw the first punch, Sam.”

Sam pauses, blinks. “Yeah. I knew that.”

Dean doesn't believe him. “Sure, whatever. I tried to hit Dad. It was a pretty dumb move.”

“Because he beat you up.”

“He didn’t beat me up. We traded a few punches.”

Sam doesn't respond to that. Instead he says, “I was about to turn ten, so you were fourteen, right?”

Dean doesn't bother to answer that. Sam adds, “That’s how old I am now.”

“So?”

“So, you were really pissed at Mick’s brother when he tried to punch me. You were ready to kick his ass.”

“And?”

“Well, isn’t it the same thing?”

Dean gives Sam a withering look. “No, it’s not the same. For one, you didn’t try to punch him first.”

“And if I had, you wouldn’t have been angry with him for beating me up.”

“I’d have been mad at you, for being stupid.” Dean looks towards Sam. “And, yeah, I would still have been angry with that jackass.”

“Are you angry at Dad?”

“That little twerp is not Dad. It’s not the same thing.”

“Why isn’t it?”

“Because!”

“You said it was wrong for Mick’s brother to hit a fourteen year old. Dad beat you up when you were fourteen. It was wrong. I rest my case.”

“Oh my God, Sam.” Dean slaps his palm to his forehead. “You have been watching too much LA Law.”

“But, seriously...”

“No, Sam, that’s enough.” Dean cuts off Sam’s cross examination or whatever it is, like he should have done ten minutes ago. “Is this why you’ve been such a brat for the last week? You’re holding on to some grudge on my behalf? Let it go.”

“No, Dean.” Sam has that look on his face, the one that says he thinks Dean is being stupid. “You don’t fight with Dad like that anymore.”

“Guess I learned my lesson, huh?” Dean says, rolling his eyes at Sam’s horrified expression. “Come on, Sam, it happened once. People get mad.”

“But it hasn’t happened since, because you stopped getting Dad angry like that. You stopped arguing with him like that.”

“Maybe I haven’t had to.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Sam glances up at Dean from a pile of chopped mushrooms. “I mean, I remember two weeks after that Dad had me come along on a salt and burn.”

“A salt and burn’s not a werewolf hunt.”

“Yeah, but that ghost tossed me into a tree, and I sprained my wrist. But maybe you’re right, and that was different.”

“What do you want me to say, here, Sam?”

“I want you to admit that what Dad did was wrong!”

“Why?” The volume of Dean’s shout surprises him, and he looks down at Sam’s shocked face. “Say I do, I agree with all that stuff you’ve said? What happens then? What difference does it make?”

Sam looks up at Dean, his face still except for his twitching jaw. Then he puts down his knife and stalks out of the room.

“Think about it, Sammy,” Dean calls after him.

***************

After that, things settle down a little. It's not exactly peaceful, things are still tense and awkward, but Sam stops going out of his way to antagonise Dad. Well, mostly. Sam is being a lot quieter than usual. He's spending a lot more time watching his father and Dean together.

He’s always considered Dean’s unwavering obedience to be an annoyance. It’s the thing that he's always failing to measure up to. Now, instead of trying to figure out what Dad thinks about it, he’s trying to figure out what Dean thinks about it. Dean is always careful about doing exactly what Dad says. If Dad gives Dean a list of things to do, not only will he do every single thing on the list, he’ll do them in the order they're written down. Sam knows this because once he suggested doing the easy chores first, and Dean gave him a look.

If Dean happens to disagree with Dad about something they're doing while hunting, he has no problem speaking up about it, and sometimes Dad agrees with him and changes his mind (he never, ever does that with Sam) but if he says no to whatever Dean suggests, Dean won't bring it up again. He’ll keep doing what he’s been told, instead, even if Dad's not there.

Sam has always thought about how thrilled Dad must be, to have the perfect son. The things Dean is lazy about are the things Dad doesn't care about. He works hard at all their training, but more than that, he has real enthusiasm for it. Sam's never really considered what it means to Dean to be the perfect son. He becomes more and more convinced that that's what it's about. Dean watches Dad all the time, checking his reaction to things, whether he approves or disapproves, and then he behaves accordingly. 

It's not that Dean's afraid of Dad, Sam concludes. Dean's not afraid of anything. It's just that Dean really cares that much about having Dad's approval. It's a revelation to Sam, shedding light on the way he’s never quite felt like he belongs in the family the way Dad and Dean do. They're so perfect together, the perfect father and son. They don't need anyone else. It's never occurred to Sam that maybe that comes at a cost to Dean, that maybe there are things he sacrifices to be Dad's perfect son.

Like how hard he works at keeping things peaceful between Dad and Sam, another thing Sam never really noticed before but suddenly can't stop noticing. When they're all in the same room, Dean tries to keep the attention on himself. It used to bother Sam, the way Dean has to be the centre of attention, but now he wonders if Dean is actually trying to protect him, to keep Dad from noticing him.

Actually, it's not just that Dean's always trying to be the perfect son. He's always got to be the perfect big brother, too. It's something he’s always done, take care of Sam, and Dad has always expected it of him. Sam's always been happy to have a brother like Dean, but he begins to wonder if that's just another thing Dean does to make Dad happy. It worries him, and for several days he turns Dean down whenever he suggests they do something together, sure that it's just another thing he does for Dad's approval.

At the end of July, Dad gets them to pack up and move to Indiana. They wind up in a town called Mitchell, nothing special about it. Sam looks around and thinks that it's the sort of place he’d like to stay, if they ever stay anywhere. It's ordinary.

It looks ordinary, but of course it has just as many spooks and monsters as anywhere else. Dad finds plenty of hunting to do, sometimes taking Dean along but usually not.

One night, when it’s Sam’s turn to put the salt lines down, he forgets the window in the living room. He’s going through the apartment like he always does, and then the washing machine starts making that horrible noise it makes when it’s not balanced properly, and Sam has to go and kick it to make it stop. Once he’s done, he’s totally forgotten about the window and goes to do his homework. He doesn’t remember until Dad gets home three hours later.

Dad notices almost straight away, of course, because the first thing John fucking Winchester has to do when he gets home is check that his kids haven’t fucked anything up. 

“Dean!” he bellows from the living room.

Dean stumbles downstairs, hair messed up and eyes still a bit droopy. “What is it, Dad?” he asks.

“Look at this,” he snaps, pointing to the offending window. “I left you in charge, didn’t I? Where the fuck is the salt line?”

“Dad... I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened.”

“You don’t know?” Dad asks, and then Sam comes into the room.

“It was my fault,” he says, seeing what's going on. “It was my night to do the salt lines. I got distracted and I forgot to finish.”

Dad can glare like no one else Sam has ever met. “You forgot?” he asks scathingly. “You forgot to make sure that we were protected from spirits, and creatures, and demons? Do you even care if something happens to me? Or to Dean?”

“Dad...” Sam says through a tight throat. That's harsh, even for Dad.

“Come on, Dad, it was an accident.”

“Don’t you defend him, Dean. This is just as much your fault as his, why didn’t you check up on him?”

Sam feels twice as bad then, seeing Dean shrug and look stumped, knowing that he hadn’t checked Sam’s work because he trusted him to do it properly, and now he's paying for it.

“I won’t forget again,” he promises, anything to get that cornered look off Dean’s face.

“How can I be sure of that?” Dad asks. “If you can’t handle making sure the house is secure, how can Dean and I trust you to back us up when we’re hunting?”

Sam flinches back when Dad says that, and he sees Dean twitch as well. “He shouldn’t be hunting with us at all, Dad,” says Dean gruffly. “He’s just a kid.”

“I... what? Shut up Dean, I’m not a kid. And I can watch your back.”

Sam is too busy defending himself to notice the piercing glare Dad turns on Dean. “That’s not your call, Dean. I’ll decide what Sam can handle.”

Dean mutters something too softly for Sam to catch, and Dad barks “What was that?”

Dean looks at him, a muscle in his cheek twitching as he decides whether or not to answer. “Why is it your decision, Dad?” he asks at last, the words forcing themselves from his throat reluctantly, like he'd really rather say nothing at all.

“What the hell are you...”

“Why is it... taking care of Sammy’s always been my job. Making sure he’s okay, keeping an eye on him. But when it comes to this, I don’t get any say. I keep him safe until it suits you to put his life at risk?”

Sam thinks Dean should have shut up about thirty minutes ago. Dad looks furious, and Sam remembers the last time Dean argued with Dad about how involved he should be in their hunting.

He doesn't want to speak up, draw Dad and Dean’s attention when they're both so angry, but he has to. “Dean... that stuff I said, I didn’t mean... I didn’t want...”

“Shut up Sam, this isn’t about you,” says Dean nonsensically.

“I didn’t think I would have to remind you that what we do is important. We save lives. We prevent terrible things from happening. You willing to stand back and let people suffer, Dean?”

Dad's voice is ice cold, and Sam expects Dean to back down and apologise. He doesn't. “Yeah, I know all that. And you made a choice to live this life, and that’s great, but I didn’t get a choice, and neither did Sam.”

Sam wishes he could rewind the conversation, just to confirm that Dean actually said what Sam thinks he said.

“Your mother...” Dad rasps in a harsh voice.

“I want... I want to find what killed her. And I want to get revenge. But not so much that I'll throw away everything else. Sam comes first. Not for you, maybe, but for me.”

The pauses when Dean and Dad are quiet are almost scarier than the things they're saying. At least, until Dad asks, “What are you saying, Dean? You want out, you want to go? I’m not stopping you.”

Sam thinks his heart might stop right there. No, he thinks. No, no no. This can’t happen. He waits for Dean to say something. You bet I want out, maybe. Or, no, no I didn’t mean that. But Dean says nothing at all, and it's more damning than any words he could have spoken.

Dad watches Dean until it's clear he's not going to say anything else. Then he leaves the room, silently, with a sneer on his face.

“Dean?” Sam asks once they were left alone. Dean looks anguished, devastated. He shakes his head and stumbles out of the room.

Sam races after him, because if Dean's going to try to leave right now, Sam has to be there to stop him. Dean just goes to their bedroom, though, and collapses onto his bed. Sam sits and watches him for an hour, trying to think of something to say.

************

“Are you going to leave me behind, Dean?” Sam asks him the next morning. The question hits Dean like a well aimed kick to the stomach, making him feel even worse.

“No, Sammy,” he says. He can see the way Sam’s tension instantly eases, and he tries not to let on how much thinking he'd been doing all night, the conclusions he’s drawn. Sam will find out soon enough.

Dad's in the kitchen already, which gives Dean the opportunity to say what he’s been planning to say. Of course, that doesn't mean Dad will make it easy. He won't even look at Dean.

“Dad,” Dean says at last. “I did some thinking last night...”

“Yeah, Dean, listen, we both said some things we regret.” Dad actually smiles, tiny but it's there. Dean feels bad for spoiling the moment.

“No, that’s not what I mean.”

Dad's smile fades slowly. “What then?”

“You’ve always... you’ve always done your best for me and Sam. I know that. I appreciate it.”

“But?”

Dean hesitates, because there's no nice way to say the next part. “This life... is no good for us. It’s...” He pauses, weighing Dad's expression, then continues on recklessly. “We deserve better.”

“And you think you can do that? You can do better than me? Everything I’ve ever done has been for you two!”

“Dad... that’s not true,” Dean ventures. “You’re doing this for Mom. It’s fine. It’s... I hope you find the thing that did it. I... I want to help people. But I want to live, too.”

“You’re leaving,” says Dad.

“Yeah.”

“No, Dean!” exclaims Sam from the doorway where he’s been standing. “You promised.”

“Sam’s...” Dean stops to clear his throat. “Sam is coming with me.”

“You’re only eighteen, Dean, you’re too young to look after anyone...”

“I wasn’t too young when I was four,” Dean snaps, Dad's denial making him angry.

Dad looks at Dean through haunted eyes. “That isn’t fair.”

Dean sags. “No, it wasn’t. I’m sorry.” He means it. He hates the effect all this is having on Dad. He's not a bad man. He's just not a good father. Somewhere, he stopped seeing Dean and Sam as his children. Dean's happy to be his Dad's soldier, to fight for him, hunt for him. But the very first responsibility Dad had ever handed him was to take care of Sam, and he's going to do that before anything else.

Dad looks away, stares at the wall with tight shoulders. Dean leaves him alone and goes to the bedroom to pack.

***********

“Dad?”

He hasn't moved in nearly ten minutes. Sam just wants him to say something. Anything.

“Don’t you have some packing to do, Sammy?” Dad looks around and his eyes are wet. It frightens Sam a little; he’s never seen Dad cry, not ever.

“What if I don’t want to go?” he asks tentatively.

Dad looks at him for a long time, and then he smiles. “You do want to go,” he says. “But thanks, for trying to make your old man feel better.”

Sam's not sure what to say to that. I’m sorry doesn't seem to be enough, but it's all he has, so he says it anyway. Dad just shakes his head.

“Promise me you’ll take care of yourself,” he says. “And for God’s sake don’t leave windows open. You can’t afford to do stupid shit like that if I’m not there to keep an eye on you.”

“I won’t, Dad.” Sam looks at him, and then impulsively steps in to give him a hug. He feels Dad stiffen with surprise before gently hugging back. They don't really hug, not in a long time. Not enough that Sam will miss it.

“Listen,” says Dad once they stop. “I don’t think Dean has any idea where you two are going, but when you get there, you write, okay? You can send your letters to Pastor Jim, he’ll make sure I get them.”

“Of course, Dad,” says Sam.

**************

[](http://s1246.beta.photobucket.com/user/daniomalley22/media/BB-Yesterday-OnTheRoadSM_starry-ice.jpg.html)

They get in the Impala and drive. Dean drives for hours and hours, until they cross the border into Illinois and then Missouri. Sam offers to drive after that, but Dean says no. He can drive, and he’s good at it, but Dean says that’s just for emergencies. Whatever.

Eventually they have to stop. The Impala needs gas and Dean and Sam need food. There are places off the interstate where they could stop for a short while before continuing, but instead Dean takes an exit and drives into a busy town. They eat lunch in a diner. A pretty blonde waitress writes her phone number on Dean’s napkin, but Dean barely looks at her. Sam watches him and waits for Dean to explain what they’re going to do next. He’s used to Dean knowing what to do.

Dean finishes his coffee. The waitress comes by twice to offer a refill; Dean refuses, but stays seated at the table, and Sam realises that maybe he feels just as lost as Sam does.

Sam kicks Dean under the table, and he looks up, startled, like he’d forgotten Sam was there. He pushed his face into a smile, but it doesn't quite work, like he's trying to draw the expression with his eyes closed.

“What do you think?” Dean asks.

Sam looks around the room blankly. “Think of what?”

“Of this town.”

“Oh.” Sam looks around with purpose this time. “You mean you’re thinking of staying here?”

Dean shrugs. “Maybe.”

“I thought we were going to drive further.”

“Well, uh. I guess if you wanted to go further...”

“No. No, this is fine.” It occurs to Sam that the further they travelled, the further they’ll be from Dad, and even though they're on their own now, there's some comfort in knowing that Dad's not so far away. If Dean is reluctant to let that distance stretch too far, Sam's not going to argue with him.

“We passed a motel on the way in,” says Dean, and Sam realises that he’s been planning to stop here ever since they left the interstate.

“Let’s go see if there’s a vacancy,” he says.

**************

The motel is one of the crappier places they’d stayed. Dean pays for a week and starts looking for work. Sam is happy exploring the town and settling in with every intention of staying put for a good long time. Dean is starting to worry about where money's going to come from. If they're staying put in this town for an extended length of time, they'll have to earn their money legitimately, and as a high school drop-out his prospects aren't all that great. 

After a week, he’s applied to twenty jobs and been to three interviews. He's not particularly hopeful about any of them, and the money he brought with him is starting to run out. 

In the evenings he and Sam go driving, or walking to save gas. Sam shows Dean the things he saw during the day while Dean was looking for work. One night, they walk a different route and came across a school.

“Is this where you’ll be going to school in May?” Dean asks.

“It’s Ramos Academy, it’s a private school,” Sam explains. 

“Wow. Look at it,” Dean says wonderingly. Sam doesn't seem so interested, but Dean can't stop looking. It's huge, and clean, and looks like the kind of place where future presidents and Nobel Prize winners go to school.

The next day, Dean's offered a job at a supermarket, and he goes in for a few hours to do training and get his uniform. The uniform is hideous, but Dean's more occupied with figuring out how many hours he can work in a week and how much he can make. He's considering trying to find a second job. He hasn't been able to get his mind off Sam and school.

He thinks it was the right decision for himself too, but Dean knows the real reason he decided to leave Dad was for Sam’s sake. He had convinced himself that he could provide for Sam better than Dad. He might have been wrong, though. He could probably work five jobs and still not be able to afford a flashy private school education for Sam. What had he been thinking?

After getting set up at work, Dean walks home and continues turning the situation over in his mind. As much as it had sucked to be constantly on the move, Dean can see the advantages of that sort of life now. They had been able to use their credit cards without worrying about being caught before they’d moved on. When they’d hustled pool or poker, they didn’t have to worry about sore losers coming after them, because they never stayed anywhere long enough. They hadn’t had heaps of money, but there had always been food on the table. Now, if Dean gets sick, they're screwed. If he fucks up the job and gets fired, they're screwed. Dean hadn’t realised before now just how precarious their position is.

Dean is thinking so deeply that he's dawdling along, barely paying attention to anything else. The street's deserted save for one man walking in Dean’s direction. As he gets close, Dean steps to the side to let him pass, but the man sidles up to him and says something. Dean, busy wondering if private schools would accept tuition on instalments, misses what he said and replies, “Huh?”

“How much?” the stranger asks. “Is it, like, an hourly rate, or what?”

***********

Sam has been waiting in the motel room for hours. He’d been happy for Dean when he was offered the job. It had been impossible to miss the way Dean had grown more and more stressed as the days had passed without finding work. Sam had been sure something would turn up, but he could tell Dean was feeling the weight of responsibility pressing on him. 

Dean hadn’t said anything, but Sam knew Dean didn’t want him wandering around while he was working, so he stayed in the motel room and read books. Dean hadn’t said how long he was going to be, but it's past dusk when the motel door opens. 

Sam looks up and is shocked when Dean entered the room. He looks terrible, pale and miserable.

“God,” says Sam. “Was it that bad?”

Dean shakes his head, his hands trembling. “I can’t,” he says shakily. “I can’t.”

“Can’t what?”

Dean sits by Sam on the bed and looks at Sam’s knees. “I can’t afford to send you to private school.”

“O...kay?” says Sam. “So?”

“I don’t know if I can do this. Afford everything. You’re going to want to join clubs and do sports and activities, and there might not be enough money...”

“Dean, I understand if things are tight...”

“And you should have books, and shit for school, I don’t even know what. A computer. I can’t give you any of that.”

“Dean, it’s fine!”

“It’s not fine!” Dean springs up from the bed, running his hands through his hair frantically. “This was supposed to be better, I’m supposed to be taking better care of you. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

“Dean, please tell me you didn’t take me and leave Dad because you thought that way you’d be able to buy me more shit?”

Dean seems to settle down and breathe. Sam watches him closely. He finally meets Sam’s eyes and the panic eases from his face. “No,” he says. “I did this because Dad’s first priority was always revenge for Mom, and our first priority is you.”

“Us,” Sam corrects. “Our first priority is us.”

“Yeah. Us.”

***********

Life gets a bit easier once Dean realises he doesn’t have to send Sam to the most exclusive schools and buy him the latest gadgets. Sam is perfectly happy going to public school and spending his time in the library.

Dean gets a raise and they move out of the motel into a two bedroom apartment just down the street from a school Sam can start attending in September. Dean tells Sam that if anyone gives him trouble, he should kick their ass. Sam just smiles and rolls his eyes.

They don't forget the things Dad taught them. They still salt the doorways and windows. Still slip holy water into the drinks they offer to every guest, and make sure to bring out the real silverware for them. They have to buy some just for that purpose. Still, now that they're not actually going out and looking for monsters, it's almost too easy to forget what it was like. Dean almost misses it.

He almost misses it so much that when he starts noticing a pattern in the disappearances reported by the local newspaper, he clips out the articles and keeps them. He doesn't tell Sam. This is why he and Sam left Dad; so that Sam wouldn’t have to know about this shit anymore.

Eventually, he's able to link the disappearances to a particular house, and from there it's simple enough to identify the spirit behind it. One night, Dean makes sure Sam is fast asleep and slips out of the apartment to go to the cemetery. He’s never dug up a grave without help before, and it takes longer than he expected. He gets tired, and by the time he’s finished the salt and burn the sky is beginning to lighten. He races home, but Sam's awake and standing in the kitchen when Dean lets himself through the front door.

“Where the hell have you been?” Sam demands, and he sounded so much like an anxious parent that Dean has to laugh.

He tries to feed Sam a story about not being able to sleep and going for a walk, but Sam never falls for shit like that now, not since he read Dad's journal when he was nine. Eventually, he gets the true story out of Dean, and he's pissed.

“I mean, why did we even come all the way out here, if we were just going to keep doing the same shit, Dean?” Sam yells, waving his hands around.

“Look, I’m sorry I worried you, but people were dying!”

“So what, then it’s okay for you to lie to me? We left Dad so we wouldn’t have to do this anymore.”

“No,” says Dean, tired of the argument. “We left so you wouldn’t have to do this anymore.”

Sam looks stricken, and Dean feels badly for it, but he's tired of Sam not understanding. “I thought you wanted this too,” Sam says. “A normal life. It’s... we should go back,” he says suddenly, “Dad wouldn’t mind if we came back, would he?”

“Sam, don’t make a fuss. It’s just... if I know people are getting hurt and I know there’s something I can do about it, I can’t just stand back and let it happen, okay? It’s alright, I don’t expect you to have anything to do with it. You shouldn’t have to worry about that stuff.”

Sam looks at him like he's a special kind of stupid. “You,” he says slowly, “Are some special kind of stupid, Dean.”

“Hey!”

“First of all, you can say I don’t have to be involved, but that’s bullshit. If you go and get yourself killed, I'm going to be pretty involved.”

“Dad would come get you, or Uncle Bobby. You wouldn’t be alone.”

“I don’t want you to die, Dean! God, what’s wrong with you? Don’t talk!” he adds when Dean opens his mouth. “ And secondly, you know, I don’t want to stand back and watch people die either. That’s not... I mean, I’m not a monster.”

“What are you getting at then, Sam?” Dean asks wearily. “You want to go back to hunting? You want to go back to Dad?” 

Sam hesitates for the first time since he sprang Dean sneaking into the kitchen. “I just don’t want hunting to be my entire life,” he says. “I don’t get why that’s such a bad thing. Other people have jobs and they still do other stuff as well. Even people who are like, doctors and stuff, they might work long hours but they do stuff besides just... being doctors.”

“Hunting isn’t like other jobs, Sam.” 

“But why not?” Sam whines. Dean is sure it's only the deep desire to appear reasonable that's keeping Sam from stamping his foot.

“You know why not. The things out there, they don’t like hunters. You either make it your life’s work, or you get out completely. You try to have a life as well, you get innocent people hurt.”

Dean's pretty sure Sam's crying, but he tries not to look too close, to give Sam the illusion of privacy. “It’s not fair,” Sam says. “I never got a say. I didn’t want this.”

Dean doesn't know what to say to that. He never got a choice, either, but at least he knows what he would have chosen, if he’d been able to. Sam though, he can't live with a commitment that was made on his behalf. Dean wishes there was something he could do.

The next morning, Sam starts reading the papers with Dean. They don't discuss it.

**********

Dean has his regular shifts at the supermarket, Tuesday through Saturday, but he picks up extras whenever he can. Sam finds himself doing most of the research while Dean works. He's better at it, anyway. He thinks the librarians consider him a little odd, with how much time he spends at the library over the summer, but he makes sure not to make lots of noise or spill food on the books, and eventually all the library staff grow to like him.

When Dean has a day off, they go after whatever thing they've been hunting. Sometimes they're spirits, sometimes creatures. Once, it's a coven of witches. The hunts are kind of scary now that Sam has to step up and be more involved, although he refuses to admit it. He can back Dean up, he's not going to make Dean choose between Sam and saving people.

At first, Sam hopes he can prove that they don't have to choose between fighting evil and having a life. He thinks maybe they can balance the two. It works for a while. Before they were trying to travel all over the country killing every monster in America, and keeping one small town and the area around it safe seems totally manageable in comparison. For a while, they manage to keep on top of things, but over time the amount of supernatural activity actually seems to increase.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Dean says in exasperation one night. “We’ve been here a couple of months now. Things should be getting better, not worse.”

Things are undeniably getting worse, however. There are more reports of odd disappearances and strange accidents. When they first started working, they investigated two or three possibilities each week, and one or maybe two usually turned out to be something. Now, there are at least four unrelated cases going on at any given time. They're getting more difficult, too. The creatures are nastier, and are often something Sam and Dean have never encountered before.

“Why do we run ourselves ragged trying to do everything Dean? We should just focus on the most urgent thing, and get to the other stuff when we have time. Cops don’t work 24/7 until they solve a crime, they actually rest now and then. We should do that.”

So they try, and Sam picks up a novel instead of the textbook he would have preferred reading on their next day of scheduled relaxation, determined to show Dean that it's okay to do things besides work and hunt. But that evening the local news reports a woman killed in an animal attack, (werewolf) and that's the end of that. It doesn't matter that the werewolf hadn't even been on their radar before the news report. Dean seems to think they could have saved her, a woman they had never even known was in danger.

“While we’re sitting here, watching crappy TV, someone is probably being mauled,” he says, and back to work they go.

Still, it's okay. Sam likes staying in one place. School starts, and he goes to his first day with every intention of finishing the year at the same school. The kids aren't so friendly, but he's used to that, and he's going to be around for long enough that he might actually be able to make some friends. 

With Dean depending on Sam so much for help with research, it's hard to keep up with school work as well. Sam's not getting much sleep, but it's better than getting lousy grades or letting Dean down. When Dean asks, Sam smiles and says he's fine. He can tell Dean's worrying, wondering if they were better off with Dad after all. Sam misses him. He sends a few letters, since Dad was careful to tell Sam where to send them, places where they could be passed on. The last few months have opened his eyes a lot, made him see that Dad wasn’t the devil, or anything. He was trying, and he was hard because he wanted them to be safe. But Sam's not sure if Dad cared so much about his and Dean’s safety because they're his sons and he loves them, or because they're useful to him, and he can't quite forgive that. He doesn't want to have those thoughts about his dad, and so he still thinks they're better off taking care of themselves.

When Sam finally does make a few friends at school, and they begin asking him along to things, Sam has to say no more often than not. He's got too much to do. But he still delights at having that much normalcy, having somewhere to be on a Friday night other than in the back of the Impala waiting for the next monster to make an appearance. It's nice.

***********

Dean's worried about Sam. He’s been worried about Sam ever since they left Dad, really. Terrified, even. But it's getting worse now.

He's working too hard, anyone can see that. His teachers certainly have, and Dean still doesn't know how to tell Sam about the phone call he got from Sam’s school. Sam seems to think he can get straight A’s and hunt monsters and have a social life too. He hasn't collapsed under the strain yet, but it hasn't been that long and the cracks are already starting to show. He won't talk about it, and Dean understands why. He doesn't want to give up on the life they're trying to create, and he thinks if Dean decides he can't handle it he'll take them back to Dad and everything will go back the way it had been. The part which makes it hard is that Dean can't reassure him. The two of them are doing as much hunting, maybe more, than before they left Dad. They’ve tried to take it easier and it didn't work, and Dean knows that was his fault. It's his fault that Sam's working himself to the bone trying to prove that they can both have what they want. It's Dean’s fault that Sam is actually worse off now.

Sam has friends at school, and sometimes they ask him to things. To parties, or movies, or whatever else kids do. Dean doesn't know. He just knows that Sam almost always says no. He says no because he doesn't want to leave Dean to handle the research and hunting by himself, and Dean appreciates it, but damn it, they came out here so Sam could be a normal teenager. He tries to take on more of the work, take over most of the chores in their crappy apartment, but Sam sees through him and stops telling Dean when his friends ask him to hang out with them.

It's inevitable that Dean would win one eventually. It's Courtney’s birthday and she wants to go to Timezone with her friends. Dean probably wouldn’t have pushed Sam so hard to go, except that it's obvious to everyone not living under a rock that Sam has a giant crush on Courtney. Dean probably wouldn’t have succeeded if Sam hadn’t wanted to go so badly. Whatever, it doesn't matter in the end. They have a weird sort of argument about it, where Dean and Sam switch sides so many times they can't keep track of what they're arguing about anymore, but eventually Sam agrees to go.

Dean's happy about it. It feels like the first decent thing he’s done for Sam since they left Dad. He nudges Sam firmly out the door and plans an evening full of bad TV and reheated pizza. He's halfway through a slice of supreme when the phone starts to ring.

**********

Sam's excited to go with Courtney and his other friends to Timezone. He’s never been before, but he has fifteen dollars and he's planning to enjoy himself. He’s played a few of the games before, in motel lobbies and grocery stores, but most of them are unfamiliar. He dies a lot, but that doesn't bother him.

Courtney does, though. Bother him. She seems different, tonight. Sharper, meaner. Sam thinks at first that he's being too sensitive. He realises something's up when all six of them play some racing game together and Sam comes last, again. Courtney laughs. Not a friendly laugh, the sound is cruel, spiteful. Sam feels his cheeks heat up as the rest of the group join in. He gets up from his seat and turns towards the door. The whole night was a mistake; it was a mistake to think he could have friends at all. He took a takes of steps but Courtney grabs his arm.

“What’s the matter Sam?” she asks, her voice falsely sweet. “Leaving already?”

“Leave me alone,” says Sam, trying to shake his arm free. Courtney doesn't let go, however. She must be stronger than she looks. Sam looks at Courtney’s face, meaning to say something else, but the words die in his throat. Her eyes are... wrong. Not blue anymore. They're black. Black all over, not just the iris. There's no white showing at all. Sam gapes and staggers backwards, and this time Courtney lets go.

“I think you should stay, Sam,” she purrs. “We’ll have fun.”

Sam runs. He runs for the doors, but they slam shut as he gets near. They're the automatic kind, but they don't open again and there's no handle. Sam turns and runs towards the counter, jumping across it and through the door behind it which leads into a back room.

“Hey, kid, you can’t be in here!” barks a middle aged man sitting at a desk in the corner. Sam blinks at him for a moment, then pulls the door closed and locks it.

“What are you doing?”

“Do you have any salt?” Sam asks desperately. It's a long shot, but still more likely than a silver knife or holy water, which are the next best options. Sam has no idea what's happening, what sort of creature Courtney is or if that's even Courtney at all, but salt's useful against lots of things.

“Salt? What are you playing at?”

There's a bench with a sink against the opposite wall. There are canisters with coffee, tea, and sugar, but no salt. Fuck. Sam opens the drawers, but there's nothing inside but plastic spoons.

“Cut that out! If you don’t clear out of here, I’ll call the police!”

That gets Sam’s attention. He looks around to the phone the guy points to, hanging on the wall. Ignoring the guy’s protests, he picks it up and calls Dean. He's worried the guy might try to forcibly push him away, but at that moment there's a scream from outside. The guy's distracted; he goes to the door and opens it.

“Don’t do that!” Sam yells. “It’s not safe!”

The guy ignores him and sticks his head out. Sam wasn’t sure what he sees, and in the end it doesn't matter. His head twists sharply to the side with a sickening crack, and he slumps to the ground. Sam watches in horror. Then he drops the phone receiver, pulls the body out of the way of the door and re-locks it. It probably won't do much good in the long run, but there's nothing else he can do.

Dean must have answered the phone while Sam was busy; he can hear his tinny voice coming from the receiver. He picks it up.

“... the fuck is going on? Is that you, Sam? This had better be good, I swear to God. I was just about to...”

“Dean, something’s wrong with Courtney,” Sam blurts. Dean must catch the panic in his voice, because he quietens down straight away. “I don’t know what... I think she just killed someone.”

“What the hell, Sam? What’s going on?”

“I don’t know. She wasn’t acting right, and then she looked at me. Her eyes...” Sam shudders at the memory. “They were black. All over.”

“Black eyes?” Sam waits for Dean to share if that piece of information means anything to him, but he doesn't. “Where are you Sam? Are you somewhere secure?”

“No, there isn’t...” Sam looks around. “There’s nothing here I can use...”

“You carrying your knife like I said?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Sam had forgotten about it in the heat of the moment. He pulls it out and the weight is comforting in his hand. But then there's another scream from outside, and the terror comes back. “I need you to come, Dean.”

“I’m on my way.”

**********

Timezone is a fairly short drive from the apartment, something Dean is grateful for as he pushes the accelerator to the floor and listens to the Impala screech down the street. He runs two red lights on the way and is immensely grateful to reach his destination without incident. 

He parks a few shops down from the Timezone and takes a minute to think about what he should do. He has no idea what's inside. Sam’s description of the way his friends had been acting differently, the black eyes, it had sounded familiar but he hasn't had time to think it over. He hasn't brought any weapons with him, but the trunk holds all the usual things. He just doesn't know if any of them will work. Dean knows he should probably wait and come up with a plan, but every part of him is screaming to run into the building and find Sam, and screw whatever gets in his way.

He gets out of the car and opens the trunk, examining his choices critically. He pulls out a shotgun and stuffs his pockets with a variety of shells. He picks up a flask of holy water, because that's always handy to have around. He considers the remaining options and picks up a crowbar. Even if this monster, whatever it is, isn’t vulnerable to iron, a crowbar’s a pretty good weapon. He hooks it through his belt.

Dean squares his shoulders and marches towards the TImezone front entrance.

He eases up to the glass doors slowly, hoping that if anything is there, he'll see it before it sees him. He gets close enough to look through the glass, but nothing looks out of place inside. He can't see too far, his view is blocked by pinball machines or whatever, but as far as he can tell the place looks deserted. He sidles in front of the automatic doors, but they remain closed. Feeling like a fool, Dean waves an arm, then jumps up and down, but they don't budge.

Dean takes a last glance inside to make sure no one has come into view, and then swings the crowbar hard, shattering the glass. It smashes with a deafening noise, and Dean leaps back, shielding his face with his arms. He steps through the hole in the door and ducks quickly to the side, trying to get a view further into the room. Thanks to the noise, his arrival isn't going to take anyone by surprise, so he needs to figure out what's going on while he can. He can see bodies, just a few sprawled on the floor ten or so yards away. Then for the first time, he spots movement.

It's Courtney. Dean recognises her from the one time he picked Sam up from school. It's not as though he knows her well, or at all, but still, her body language doesn't seem right. Then she turns her head and looks at Dean. Her eyes are black, just like Sam described. Dean rises from his crouch and lifts the shotgun, but Courtney lifts one hand and the shotgun flies from his grip. Dean watches it sail across the room with dismay. Should have taken longer to plan, he thinks, as Courtney waved her hand again and an unseen force pins him to the wall.

“Dean Winchester,” she says. “So glad you could make it.”

“Where’s Sam?”

“Oh, he’s unharmed.” Courtney smiles at him, a horrible smile. “We didn’t want to start the fun without you.”

“Let him go!” Dean shouts. Courtney just laughs. Dean's furious, but can't entirely blame her. He's not exactly bargaining from a position of strength.

He looks past Courtney. There are four other people standing behind her. A couple of them look vaguely familiar, the other two not so much. They must be the rest of Sam’s school friends, Dean figures. They look the right age. Like Courtney, their eyes are black, and in a flash Dean realises what he's seeing.

“Demons,” he gasps. “You’re demons!”

They laugh. Dean struggles harder to free himself but it's useless. He can move his hands, but not lift his arms. He might be able to slip his hand into his pocket and pull out the holy water, but there's no way he’ll have a chance to use it. He decides to hold still and wait for an opportunity to come up.

Behind the group of demons, Dean can see the counter, and a door behind that which has a ‘staff only’ sign hanging on it. As he watches, the door opens just a crack and someone peeks out. Dean can’t see enough to tell if it’s Sam or not, but he’s sure it is. He’s relieved to see him; it’s much better than having to trust the demon’s assurance that Sam hasn’t been hurt. On the other hand, he starts worrying that Sam will see the danger he’s in and do something stupid trying to help. Stupid, like charging into a situation where he has no idea what he’s up against. Dean sometimes wishes he could be a better role model.

“I’ve never seen a demon before,” Dean says, speaking up slightly so Sam can hear. “I’ve gotta say, you’re not as scary as I thought you’d be. Is it true that you can’t cross a salt line?”

The demons look suspicious when he says that, which is fair enough, Dean supposes. It's not particularly subtle, but he's a bit pressed for time. One of the demons looks around towards the office door, but Sam closes it quickly and the demon doesn't notice.

“Dean Winchester,” the Courtney demon repeats. “We didn’t actually lure you out here so we could talk.”

************

Sam takes stock of what he’s managed to find in the little office room. After going through all the drawers, shelves, and cupboards, he’s gathered a small handful of little salt packets. There's also an assortment of beat up pots and pans. Sam went through the lot, but they're all stainless steel or crappy tin, no iron. He grabs the heaviest one anyway, and moves his knife to a pocket where he can reach it easily. The dead guy had a lighter in the pocket of his shirt, which Sam grabs as well. He brought a small bottle of holy water with him to the arcade, and that's all he's got.

After a long period of quiet from outside, Sam hears a great crash and then voices talking. He opens the door just enough to look out and sees Dean, pinned to the wall by Courtney and the rest of them. He can tell when Dean sees him, although it's subtle. He listens to what Dean says about demons and salt before hiding back in the office again and wondering if there's anything he can do with the new information.

He fingers the holy water bottle and looks at the sink. Holy water hurts demons too, doesn't it? It must do, it's only logical. Sam thinks he might have an idea. It's a hell of a long shot, but it's an idea.

*********

Courtney the demon proved her statement true by pulling out a huge knife and doing something to Dean’s arm that feels excruciatingly painful. He grits his teeth and tries not to yell, knowing that if Sam realises the demons are hurting him it will greatly increase the likelihood of him doing something stupid. Courtney smiles at him and moves the knife again, and Dean’s vision goes fuzzy. When he can see again, the office door is open. He blinks at it, knowing that it means something important but not quite remembering what. He's still trying to figure it out when a gunshot rings out and Courtney jerks and dropped to the ground. As she falls, the force holding Dean against the wall disappears and he's free. He sways on his feet for a minute, wondering what to do. There's a second gunshot and one of the other demons yells, and Dean remembers why he's there. With his good arm he pulls out the crowbar and starts swinging.

Dean knocks down the two closest demons, and then the one still standing snatches the crowbar from his hand. It drops the crowbar with a hiss of pain and puts its other hand around Dean’s neck, squeezing tight. Dean struggles to breathe. From behind the demon, he can see Sam running closer. He's got something draped over him, a large blanket maybe, and when he gets close enough he wraps his arms around the demon, which shrieks and lets Dean go.

Sam grabs Dean by his good arm and says, “Come on, we’ve got to run!” They bolt for the door. Behind them, Dean can hear the demons getting up and he forces himself to go faster. They get through the door and Dean turns Sam towards where he parked the car.

“You’ve gotta drive,” he wheezes. “Hurry!”

He left the keys in the ignition for a faster getaway. Sam turns them and the Impala roars to life. Sam's not the best at changing gears smoothly, but it's the last thing on Dean’s mind. The car screeches away from the kerb as the demons spill out of the Timezone and run towards them. Dean watches them from the window and wonders how fast they'll be able to follow.

“Where are we going?” Sam asks.

“Home. We can defend ourselves there.” Dean looks at Sam sitting behind the wheel. He is wearing a blanket; it's got a slit cut in it which Sam's head sticks through, and the whole thing is soaking wet.

“What the hell are you wearing?”

“Huh?” Sam says, and then he looks down at himself. “Oh. Right. I soaked it in holy water. And salt. And then I grabbed the demons, and it hurt them.”

They beat the demons home and run inside, bolting the door behind them. Sam goes to check the salt lines at every door and window, while Dean grabs the first aid kit and started cleaning up his arm. Sam comes back to help him put the bandages on, and he and Dean try to work out what to do.

“We won’t be able to hold them off forever,” Dean says, “And we don’t know how to fight demons. We’ve got to call someone for help.”

“Pastor Jim?” Sam suggests. “He must know. There’s a... rite of exorcism or something, right?”

“Get on the phone.”

Sam races off and Dean can hear him talking on the other side of the room. He busies himself loading the spare shotguns until Sam asks for paper and a pen. He writes furiously on the notepad and eventually puts the phone receiver down. “It went dead. I think they’re here, and they did something to the phone line.”

Dean nods and looked at the notepad. It's covered in writing. Not English; Dean looks and thinks it's probably Latin. “Is that what we need?”

Sam looks at Dean with worried eyes. “He said it would work, if we could trap the demons and say it. But they’ll try to stop us, when they realise what we’re doing.”

“Okay.” Dean goes to the peephole of the door, looking out to see if the demons are outside. “We can figure this out.”

************

Sam hides under the kitchen table and waits while Dean breaks the salt line by the front door. The door crashes open as Dean backs away towards the hallway that leads to the bedrooms and bathroom. The demons swarm inside and Dean darts down the hall before they can attack. They follow, and Sam waits till they're out of sight before scuttling from under the table and laying down a line of salt behind them. Dean has safely crossed the salt line into the bathroom, and stands at the other end of the hall looking back at Sam.

“Do it now!” he shouts.

Sam picks up the notepad and begins to read. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus...”

The demons scream as Sam recites the exorcism incantation. He feels the floor shake. The paint on the walls cracks, and then the plaster. So much for their security deposit, Sam thinks absently as he tries to read faster.

As he reaches the end of the incantation, the demons opens their mouths and black smoke comes billowing out. It rushes upwards towards the ceiling and fades, and the apartment falls abruptly silent.

Sam stands in the doorway, not quite believing that it's over. The demons are gone. He and Dean have won. Sam realises that he had believed, right up until now, that they were going to fail. Five demons are just too much for a pair of teenagers. But apparently that was wrong.

Sam’s friends look confused, milling in the hallway, blinking at Sam and Dean. Sam steps into the narrow space and stands next to Courtney.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

Courtney looks at him and smiles faintly. “I feel... okay?” she says uncertainly. “You’re Sam, right? I remember... you’re new, aren’t you?”

“Oh... yeah,” Sam answers, trying to ignore the stupid pang in his chest. After everything they've been through tonight, the last thing on his mind should be the fact that his friends apparently don’t remember being his friends at all.

He and Dean move the kids into the kitchen, where they check them all for injuries and find nothing serious. They apply a few bandaids and icepacks while answering questions as vaguely as possible.

“Sometimes, it was like I woke up,” says David. “And I knew what was going on. But I couldn’t control what I was doing. Something else was in control.”

The others agree that that was what it had been like. “Why did they choose us?” asks Lauren. “What did they want?”

“We don’t know,” Dean answers. “But they’re gone now, so don’t worry about it too much. And maybe start carrying some salt in your purse or something.”

Dean offers to drive the kids home. There are too many to take in one trip, so Courtney volunteers to wait behind with Sam. They double and triple check the apartment’s security, and then Dean leaves with the rest of Sam’s classmates.

It's awkward to be left alone with a girl Sam had thought might agree to date him, until it turned out she wasn’t even really his friend. He sits in a kitchen chair and turns on the television, desperate to have somewhere to look that's not at Courtney.

After a few minutes, she speaks up.

“Sam,” she says, “There’s a reason I stayed behind.”

Sam blushes and hopes she doesn't notice. He hopes the reason she stayed back isn't so she can reveal she’s noticed his crush. He can't handle the humiliation.

“I don’t remember that much about it,” she says. “But sometimes, those things... the demons, they talked to one another. And I remember them talking about you once. About you and Dean.”

Sam freezes in his chair. “What did they say?”

“They talked about killing Dean. That was what they were supposed to do, why they were here.”

Sam lets his breath out in a rush. He’d already figured as much, but having it confirmed is unsettling.

“And they also said that... that they weren’t to kill you. I remember that. They were supposed to kill Dean, but you weren’t to be hurt.”

Sam stares at her, not comprehending. He remembers hiding in the office in the Timezone, waiting for the demons to break the door down and kill him. They never did. It wouldn’t have been difficult for them, the door had been flimsy and he’d had no useful weapons. They spared him deliberately.

“Why are you telling me this?” he asks.

Courtney shrugs. “I thought you should know. And I thought maybe you wouldn’t want to hear it while everyone else was here.” 

“Oh,” say Sam, wondering what to do with the new revelation. “Thanks.”

He spends a sleepless night thinking about what Courtney told him. Deep down, he knows he should tell Dean. He doesn’t want to, though. It’s irresponsible of him; if something’s after Dean then he needs to know. On the other hand, whatever’s after Dean is definitely not after Sam, and that’s weird. It’s one thing for monsters to come after Dean and consider Sam unimportant. That would make sense. But the demons had specifically said that he shouldn’t be hurt, as though it was an order they’d been given and had to follow. That’s the part that freaks Sam out, and he doesn’t want to talk to Dean about it. He doesn’t want to hear what Dean might say if he knew.

The problem is, if he can’t talk to Dean, he doesn’t have a lot of other options. They can keep trying to watch their own backs, but something will eventually go wrong. Sam’s afraid that he can’t carry the responsibility of keeping Dean safe all by himself, and if it’s a choice between keeping Dean safe or keeping the new life that he’s just starting to like, it’s not really a choice at all.

***********

The next morning, Dean wakes up and feels like pancakes. He mixes up the batter and is melting butter into the pan when Sam appears.

“Hey, Sam,” he says. “Do you want eggs with your pancakes?”

Sam doesn't answer the question. “Dean, I’ve been thinking.”

“Wow, that’s really out of character for you.”

Sam doesn't even crack a smile. “I think we should call Dad.”

“Uh... sure. I guess, if you want.”

“We should call him and see if he can come here.”

“Come here? Why?”

“So we can go with him.”

Dean realises that the pancake is rapidly blackening in the pan and flips it with a curse. “You want to go back to Dad? What about all that stuff you said before, about how he wasn’t taking good care of you or whatever?”

“Well... maybe I was wrong. He... he keeps us safe. He wants to keep us safe. And whenever he was being a jerk you always said he was just worried about us, so. I think, maybe you were right.”

Dean stacks some pancakes onto a plate and drops it in front of Sam. “What’s this really about, Sam?” There's no way he’ll believe Sam had such a change of heart in one night.

Sam jabs at his pancakes with his fork and heaves an exasperated sigh. “Okay. The thing is, I talked to Courtney last night, after you guys were gone.”

“Oh, yeah?” Dean leers at Sam, not because he believes anything had happened, but because Sam expects it of him. “Was it a good talk?”

Sam rolls his eyes and Dean considers it a success. “No, Dean! We talked about the demons, she said she remembered some stuff.”

“Oh, right.” Dean sobers instantly. “What did she say?”

“She said the demons were coming after us specifically.”

“Oh.” Dean dishes up his own pancakes and drowns them in maple syrup. “I kinda figured, after they said they lured me there.”

“Well, yeah,” Sam allows. “But it’s more than that... you must have noticed how there have been more and more monsters here. It can’t be just coincidence. I think maybe they’re coming after us.”

“Coming after us? Why would all these things be coming after us? What, like there’s a price on our head? We’re not that important.”

“Well, then you explain it!”

Dean struggles for several minutes to find another reason, but comes up blank. Sam smirks at him when he gives up, the smug little brat.

“There’s something trying to get to us,” he says. “And we can’t protect ourselves. We need help, Dean... I think we need Dad.”

Dean looks at Sam’s serious face and thinks about the implications of what he’d said. It would explain why they’ve been so overrun with cases. It would definitely explain the demons, and Dean doesn’t have any other theories that could do that. And if it’s true, then the two of them are so far out of their depth they need a lifeboat. They need Dad to help them figure out what’s going on. 

And if it turns out like Mom, and years pass with no hint of what was behind it all, they’ll just have to deal with it. It’s better to survive, to hunt than to be hunted, and Dean knows what he wants to do, since there seems to be a choice.

It means giving up the life they’ve started to build, the normal life they were looking for. The problem is, from the start it wasn’t all that normal. Their chance at that was taken away fourteen years ago. And although things started out well enough, little pieces of normal have been chipped away day by day since they arrived. They’ve started hunting again, started hiding and lying again. Dean should have known they couldn’t have this life to keep.

Maybe he can make things better. He can take care of Sam; make up for the ways Dad falls short. He’s always tried, he’s just got to do better. He can look after Sam and hunt with Dad, he can do all that because he has too. 

“I’ll take care of it,” he says to Sam, and Sam nods back. They finish their pancakes in silence.


End file.
